A Winter Fever
by Coru
Summary: When Wade falls ill after the end of the war, Scarlett will do what she must to help him - and desperate times call for desperate measures.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks so much to Stephanie for being a fantastic beta!

All characters belong to Margaret Mitchell's estate.

_A Winter Fever_

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Chapter 1

It was a cold, hard winter that saw the end of 1865. There was little wood for fires, and even less food to prepare with them. The citizens of northern Georgia were caught in a slow and agonizing struggle against starvation – each day fighting to stay the hand of death, and each night fearing that tomorrow would bring its shadow upon their doorstep.

The people there were proud and hardy by nature, but even they began to wane as the frozen months crept along, slowly sapping at their strength and emptying their coffers of the meager funds they had saved. It was a struggle to survive, and there would be many that would not see another spring.

The white columns of Tara had not gone untouched, but they had survived through that first, hard summer after the war. They thought, perhaps foolishly, that the end of the war meant the end of fear. True, there was no risk that men would come in the night to burn the whitewashed haven to cinders, but there were worse things. Homes could be rebuilt, fields could be plowed and money could be earned, but not even the iron will of Scarlett Hamilton could defend against the creeping specter of disease.

She had naively thought that she had only to worry about the slow restoration of her sisters' health. There had been extra portions of precious food for Carreen and Suellen and Melanie as the sickly women regained their strength, and she had believed that it would soon be over. Typhoid and the dangers of childbed had passed.

No one had expected that through the cracks of the house something worse would sneak upon them. When little Wade first took ill, his mother paid him little heed, beyond being sure to keep him from the existing invalids.

"The last thing I need is to have one of you catch cold and spend another month in bed!" said she, bitterly noting that their time out of bed was scarce enough as it was.

It took nearly three days for the residents of the house to realize that the clammy white pallor of Wade Hampton's skin was far more dangerous than a simple cold – that his fever, spiking ever higher, was blending sharply with a shortness of breath and cries of pain with every movement. After that awful night, Scarlett gave in to Melanie's pleas and went in search of Dr. Fontaine, a small basket of food the only price she was able to pay.

The Old Doctor accepted the call reluctantly, recognizing both the described symptoms and his complete inability to provide anything that might help – medicine was a thing long since vanished from the state of Georgia.

When he pronounced it pneumonia, even Ashley Wilkes went white. He had seen first-hand the thousands of soldiers who succumbed to the disease on the battlefield, and those had been strong, sturdy men with decades of good health behind them. A child, a weak, hungry child, against such a foe?

No one spoke the words, but the look in their eyes as they watched the sickroom said enough. They didn't even have enough food to give him strength, let alone money for medicine or time for nursing. Mammy sat by him by day watching for changes, while the others worked, and Scarlett held his small, shaking body through the night and prayed desperately for improvement.

She wished for her mother with a ferocity that would have shamed her at any other time. Ellen would have known what to do for the little boy, Scarlett knew that for certain. On the fifth day, when delirium had pulled her son far from the white-washed walls of Tara, she remembered exactly how much good prayer had ever done for her, and decided to make for Atlanta to find someone who _did_ have the power to help her.

The response to this decision was varied. Melanie was convinced, as always, of certain success. She trusted her sister-in-law with a childlike naiveté that infuriated Scarlett, though it was Mammy's stubborn insistence that a chaperone be sent along that earned the full brunt of her sharp tongue. She would not be burdened with the simple-minded Prissy, and no one else could be spared from Tara – least of all Scarlett herself, but she did not have the time to worry about that.

She gathered their meager funds from the office and allowed herself a moment behind the great desk which had always symbolized to her mind all the strength of Tara. It was such because it had always contained the work of Ellen, and where Ellen worked the world could not shake. She closed her eyes and imagined briefly the soft sounds of swaying skirts, the scent of lemon verbena and gentle hands smoothing her troubles away.

"Scarlett?"

Her eyes snapped open, the dream surrendered and moment lost. "Ashley," she said, aware once again of her duties. "Has Will brought the wagon around?"

"He's gone for it, he should be back in a moment," he replied. "Scarlett, you…you realize, dear, that Henry can't have much money?"

Her shoulder slumped, and she nodded. "I know," she said. "But I have to try. I'll - I'll do whatever I have to. I don't care anymore."

He opened his mouth, and for one shining moment she thought he would offer to accompany her, to help her and ease her burden – but he only sighed quietly and wished her well as he left the room. An ember of resentment, which had burned quietly since his return, flared abruptly. A word, a glance from him to show that he was proud of her strength, that he still cared as she did, would have braced her for whatever she may have to do, but he refused her even that small comfort. She might once have railed with anger and jealousy, but she felt nothing at this latest disappointment. She was numb to everything now.

The members of the household watched her go with trepidation, even the most hopeful among them suspecting the reality of their bitter situation and dreading the day that may come soon: when another little body might be buried in the red earth of the family plot.

Scarlett went first to Charles' Uncle Henry. He welcomed her, and the fact that the Hamiltons would have given every penny they had along with every crumb of food if it meant saving Wade might have comforted her had they possessed anything to give. Henry had struggled fiercely just to keep the taxes paid on her properties, and he had nothing more to give her, nor much advice to spare. He merely patted her hand, exhaustion in his eyes, and promised that he would look into it, that he would call in every favor to see if there was any medicine to be had in the Old Guard. He did not even attempt to promise food – he knew that there was none to be found among their connection.

He did warn her, quite kindly in his opinion, that her idea of trying the banks would be of no use. Her land in town was barely worth the taxes he had paid on it, and no one would offer her a mortgage on a plantation. She was without ideas – she could not think of another soul in town to ask, except for the old crows and Henry would have better luck than she would on that account.

She might have gone home to Pitty's and wept in frustration had she not, upon leaving Henry's offices, overheard a bit of fresh gossip. Rhett Butler had recently returned to Atlanta, and was holding court in the nicest suite at the National Hotel. Though his very name brought bile to her throat, she knew instantly that he would be her salvation. He had always cared for Wade in a way that baffled her, but more important than that came the memory of a night near the end of the siege when, just outside Miss Pitty's walls, he had told her that he wanted her. Had waited for her. It was the decision of a split second, and she refused to let herself think of the consequences.

Visiting the National in her current state should have horrified her – and a distant, disconnected part of her mind still moaned at the thought of being seen as she was – but vanity had no place in a struggle for survival. She stood at the desk with the command and dignity of a queen, and the man behind it could only direct her to a small private lounge, with a promise that he would send for his guest immediately.

It was only a few moments that she stood there alone, but it was enough to fortify her. She was determined and she would hold strong. She turned as the door opened, and she met the disbelieving eyes of Captain Rhett Butler.

She saw reflected in his expression nothing but her own homeliness – the way he blanched as he realized that the starved cat in front of him was someone whom he had once admired, the faint horror of what had become of her. If there was anything but disgust in his eyes in that first instant she was blind to it, and in a moment his face was as coolly disinterested as ever it had been.

"Hello, Rhett," she said, her voice as sharp and hard as a tack.

"Scarlett," he said. He took a long look at her, eyes raking over the protruding collarbone and thin, waif-like arms. "I didn't know you were in Atlanta," he added blithely, taking her hand and leading her to the heavily embroidered sofa by the window. The richness of it pained her, but like so many other things in her recent life, she buried the feeling. "How kind of you to visit!"

She wanted nothing more in the entire world at that moment than to strangle him with his own silk necktie. "I heard you were in town," she said simply, struggling fiercely to hide the hatred in her voice. There was a brief inhale as something in her was smothered and she smiled up at him. "I came to see you."

He cocked an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "I must admit that I'm rather surprised. I thought I would be hated forever. What brings you to Atlanta?"

"I came to see Aunt Pitty and Uncle Henry." The thought of small talk was agony to her, her muscles cried out to be running, fighting, fiercely defending that which was hers and in danger - but she remained on the settee, hands folded placidly over her lap.

"Ah yes, your dear aunt." There was something nasty hidden in the smoothness of his voice, and she waited for the cut that was sure to come. "I've been to visit her myself, and she told me all about your life at Tara."

Her brows drew together briefly, wondering what exactly had been told – after all, Pitty hadn't been told anything that might shock her, they'd been careful of that.

"It must be convenient, having your ardent lover under your roof and obligation."

'Oh,' she thought. 'Of course he means that. He would mention that.' She took a deep breath and bit her lip. "Ashley hasn't – wouldn't – it isn't like that anymore." Scarlett scrambled for words that would convince him, words that she could mean without betraying her secret. "He's changed since the war. He won't even try to help me!" There was a note of true anger and contempt in her voice, and she was surprised at herself. She shook her head and pushed away the frown that had briefly marred her pretty features. "Anyway, let's not talk about him. I came to see you, after all. Have you been well, Rhett?" she asked demurely. "I worried so, after you left us."

A cigar dangled idly in his fingers, and he raised an eyebrow to her. "Did you think that a bullet may have gotten me, my dear?"

"Well, you did go to war," she said, pointedly.

"And you would have been devastated if I didn't come home," he said, smiling faintly.

'Just that I didn't put the bullet there myself,' she thought viciously. "Of course!" She cast her eyes down to her fingers and clutched at her skirt, noting without emotion how the worn calico wrinkled from the warmth of her skin. "We've always been such good friends, Rhett. Even if you are a varmint, I hardly know what life would be like without you in it."

"It seems you've experienced that a great deal recently," he said. He set aside his cigar and leaned forward, taking one of her thin, cold hands and turning it over to inspect. "You've been working with these hands. Working in the fields, it looks like."

She hated him for seeing it, she hated that he recognized what it meant - as if her dress and manner of appearance had not already made it obvious how dire life at Tara was, for him to see her ruined hands! Again she suppressed her ire and nodded meekly. "It's so awful," she said, the misery in her voice now genuine. "We're all half-staved, there's nothing to eat there and so much work to do. I came to Atlanta to borrow a bit from Aunt Pitty, but Uncle Henry hardly has enough to keep a roof over her head and I can't afford a crumb of food at Atlanta prices, let alone any medicine. I'm not sure what I'll do now."

"Who needs medicine, honey?" His voice was so gentle, and he was so sweetly rubbing her rough fingers to bring warmth to them.

"Oh, Rhett." Her voice cracked and to her horror she felt a hot prickle behind her eyes. "Wade is so weak - he's like a kitten. I've tried to keep him strong by giving him as much of my shares as I can stand, but now he can't even keep it down. Dr. Fontaine says pneumonia and I -" she broke off with a sob and pulled her hands back to herself, horrified by the sudden onset of very real emotion. Exhaustion, hunger, and fear had made her weak and for a time she forgot her very purpose there.

His arms came around her then, and against his strong shoulder she allowed herself to release the pent-up tears. His voice murmured nonsense as he rubbed her back, and despite her best efforts found it soothing. When she pulled away he was holding a fine white handkerchief, his initials embroidered in red silk thread at the corner. "You've been strong for a long time, haven't you?" he asked, a note of pride in his voice.

She nodded weakly, taking the proffered linen and dabbing at her eyes. It was going better than she had planned, but now she was unsure of how to proceed. "I'm sorry to cry all over you, Rhett. I didn't mean to lay my troubles on you," she said, touching the spot of moisture her tears had left on his jacket and putting on a small, somewhat embarrassed smile. "I just came to see for myself that you were intact and then..."

She was not looking at him, so she did not see the brief, eager light that entered his eyes; she saw only the slight smirk that he offered when she raised her head. "Such concern for a man whom you despise, Scarlett!" He teased softly, taking one of her hands in his. "Can I take this visit to mean that I am forgiven for my crimes?"

"Hardly," she said, forcing a playful note into her voice as she said words that she still felt with such bitterness. "You really were awful, you know. Abandoning me there, helpless, when anything might have happened to me!"

"But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was justified. I knew you'd get home safely and God help any Yankee who got in your way!"

She would not think of the Yankee deserter, buried beneath the scuppernong vines - no, no she would not think of that now. She would go mad if she thought about it now. "That may be," she said saucily. "But if you'd come along, then maybe -" she cut herself off. Along that path lay thoughts that she would not entertain - thoughts she could not entertain while keeping herself pleasant and pliable. "Anyway, that's not important. I'm just so glad to see you."

"Why, my dear, I'm almost conceited enough to think you care." There was a teasing note in his voice, but his grip on her hand tightened ever-so-slightly and he watched her closely as he spoke.

"Don't be silly, Rhett." She looked away, flushing faintly. That it was a flush of victory, and not modesty, he had no need to know. "You know how I care about you. You've always said we're cut from the same cloth and I...I've missed you." The lie came so easily to her lips that she nearly believed herself, for a moment. She hazarded a glance at his dark eyes and felt hope rise in her breast at the warmth in them. She bit her lip and looked swiftly down to her feet.

His hand closed over hers almost painfully as he spoke. "My God, Scarlett, you can't mean that you -"

She shut her eyes. He would kiss her now, she was sure of it. She remembered suddenly the passion and violence he had shown the night they left Atlanta, and she waited in half-fear of the feelings that he had stirred within her breast. The kiss did not come, and after a long moment she allowed her eyelashes to flutter open as she peeped a glance at him. His black head was bent over her hands and after a moment he lifted one, gently laying a kiss on the ugly red blister that had risen from a splash of boiling fat the day before. The tenderness of the gesture, coming as it did in the wake of such vivid memories, left her breathless. He laid her palm against his cheek, and the warm roughness of his skin felt like it burned. Triumph surged through her - any moment he would raise his head and it would be done. A declaration of love, or, dare she hope, a proposal? Oh, what she couldn't do for Tara then!

It seemed to take hours to end his reverie - what she wouldn't give to read his eyes as easily as he did hers! - but eventually he stood, pulling her with him gently. "Scarlett," he said, his voice very soft as he tilted her chin toward him. "Look at me."

She stubbornly kept her eyes downcast for just a moment longer - she needed time to order her thoughts. In her mind she paged through every pleasant encounter with Rhett Butler, every laugh they had shared and every warm, caring moment that had passed between them. She thought of the fondness she had always felt for him when he cared to be pleasing, and how he had risked his life to help them escape from Atlanta. She had those memories in her mind as she looked up him, and his breath caught.

This time as she tilted her face upward she did feel the press of his lips against hers - not the hard, insistent and driving kisses of the road to Rough and Ready, but something else, something soft and tender and more gentle than she would have thought a man of his size and strength could ever be. He held her against him as if she were precious, and she knew then, without a doubt, that he loved her – loved her despite the patched dress and emaciated body. It was a heady feeling, adrenaline surged through her veins with white hot pleasure. She wanted to laugh at him, to tell him how she despised him and break him the way the past year had broken her - but that would come later. The day would come when he regretted every cruel word he had ever thrown at her, but first she needed to secure her victory. Her arms crept around his neck, her fingertips sliding through his hair as she deepened the kiss. His response was immediate; his embrace pulling her flush against him and his lips suddenly moving faster, hotter, over her own. "Rhett," she sighed his name and tilted her face away. "Stop, please."

He paused, his breath warm against her neck. He pulled back only slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Should I brace myself for a slap?"

She bit her lip and tucked her chin down, hiding her face against the soft wool of his lapel. "No," she whispered.

"No?" There was a different question in his voice, one that sent a frisson of something unidentified –fear? excitement?- through her.

She felt his arm like steel around her waist, and for a brief, brief moment she thought of Ashley. Her glorious, golden-haired prince and those soft, sad eyes that had watched her leave Tara – oh, for an instant she felt like an adulteress, a traitor to the love she had so cherished – but despite herself she remembered the day he had returned from war. He had held Melanie as if he never wished to let her go, and that night Scarlett had fought her nightmares alone in her own bed, with neither love nor friendship to comfort her. How he had let her go alone – oh, he should have saved her from this! He let her go, when he knew her desperation, and he did not protect her. She hoped then with all her heart that Ashley did truly love her – so that this would pain him.

She tilted her head to meet his eyes, and a soft smile curved her lips. "I love you, Rhett."

His breath caught, and she felt his fingers dig in tightly at her waist. "Scarlett," he said softly, his eyes intent on hers. "I am not a man to toy with. Do not lie to me."

"I- I realized when we got to Tara," she said, trying to hide her fear. "I tried to be angry with you, but I just missed you so and I was so frightened that you'd be hurt. I thought the horrid things I said to you on the road would be the last memories you had of me and I hated myself." She forced herself to stop babbling – nerves were not convincing and she _had_ to be convincing. All she had to do was make a man believe exactly what he wanted to, and she could do that, couldn't she? She smoothed herself internally and stepped out of his embrace. "I'm sorry," she said shortly, reaching for her reticule. "I forgot; you're not a marrying man. I shouldn't have said anything. You needn't worry, I won't repeat it."

"The hell you won't," he said fiercely. He gripped her shoulders and in a moment he was kissing her again. There was passion there that he had never shown her before, a demand that she could not help but acquiesce to and she wondered in the dimmest portion of her mind how she could have possibly thought to control such a man. "You'll repeat those words," he growled as his lips travelled down her throat. "Every day…for the rest of our lives."

"Our lives?" she asked breathlessly.

He released her, gentle once again. "My dear," he said, smiling. "I told you once that I had waited for you and that hasn't changed. Except that I will say that I have lost my patience – war will do that to a man."

Her stomach began to churn as she pondered her next movements. Could she – oh, could she marry him, even? Her heart cried out against this betrayal of her principles, the treachery against everything she had ever held dear. She knew without a doubt that her mother would turn over in her grave if she knew that Scarlett was thinking of accepting – plotting to entangle even! – a man who was not received by any decent family in the South.

Could she return to Tara as Mrs. Rhett Butler? Could she face her family, those who had heard her speak so ill of him? She remembered with a sudden flush of embarrassment the brief honeymoon she had shared with Charles. His awkward fumblings, the sharp pains and then – Wade. Rhett would not cower in an armchair while she avoided her wifely duties; nor would he calmly go to his death just a few convenient weeks after. She would have an entire lifetime of those humiliating encounters with no hope of reprieve.

"You are right though," he was saying. "I have never been a marrying man."

She was pulled rudely from her reverie and felt herself go cold at the thought that he might not want to marry her after all. "You – if you dare to suggest again that I –"

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear Mrs. Hamilton," he said, half-mocking. "I have resigned myself to that most unfortunate of states. No, I intend to marry you, my dear, especially since you have now so kindly compromised yourself by staying so long in this room with me – I wouldn't want to face a duel with your great, bellowing Irishman of a father."

She thought of the weak, lost child whom she had left standing at the gates of Tara and for a moment she wanted to tell him, to have someone share her burdens, but she could not risk it yet. She wouldn't tell him that there was no one to object, no one even to ask for permission for her hand, save herself. Will Benteen would never say a word against her actions, no matter what his thoughts may be and everyone else…well, she couldn't think about that right now. She'd think about that when they got back to Tara. "Pa wouldn't do anything," she said quietly. "He – he isn't well. I don't want to talk about it, but…he won't do anything."

His expression softened again as a measure of understanding dawned upon him, and he brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. He kissed her again, gently, and took her arm, leading her firmly to the dining room of the National Hotel.

The rest of the day was a blur; she ate with a fervor that would have horrified Mammy and which should have left Rhett in tears of laughter – but his expression held no amusement, and he insisted that she have second helpings of the rich gravy and hot baked ham.

Before she could even think about what being his fiancée meant, she found herself in the courthouse, quickly signing away another name. The look he wore as he slid his ring onto her finger was one of pure fire; such that she was surprised when the metal did not melt, nor scorch her skin. She felt herself tremble nonetheless as his mustache tickled her lips in a kiss that was all too brief.

His hand did not leave her waist from the moment she said 'I do.' The heat of it sank into her, with neither corset nor chemise to dilute the sensation. She was sure that he felt her lack of proper undergarments and she squirmed internally that he should know of yet another aspect of their poverty. The carriage ride to the hotel was nerve-wracking, the pressure from his grip feeling tighter than any stays could have been.

When they arrived at the hotel he took her arm and moved them quickly through the lobby, and his - their, she corrected herself internally - room was still distant when he swept her into his arms, holding her bird-like frame close to his chest. He carried her effortlessly, and in a moment the door was slamming closed on the suite. He lowered her to her feet and she had only a moment to absorb the shocking luxury of the room - plush carpets! Clean bedding! - before his lips were on hers. These were not the slow, seductive kisses of that morning; these were passionate, and demanded that she respond in kind. By nature she could not resist rising to any challenge, and so she answered the provocation in his dark eyes with a fervor that surprised them both. She opened her mouth to his kiss, meeting his hot tongue with her own and fanning the flames that had risen within him. A small, Savannah-bred voice in the back of her mind began to lecture on the nature of a lady's marriage, and for a moment she faltered, but a whisper of her name on his breath brought her back to the present. His fingers began to work at her buttons with a familiar dexterity that would have left her trembling with jealous fury in any other instance, and in what seemed like only moments her basque was pushed from her shoulders as those nimble fingers began to draw patterns across her bare skin.

Though it would certainly horrify her later, she found herself echoing his ardor; her hands were pushing frantically at his jacket and, once that obstacle had been removed, at his necktie and the small ivory buttons that dotted the front of his starched white shirt. Her small fingers deftly pushed aside his cotton obstacles and ran lightly over his chest, charting the newly uncovered skin with a zeal that surprised her.

For an instant he smiled at her, amusement glittering in his eyes at the eagerness she displayed before him; but as her bare chest met his he found that his enjoyment of the moment was of an entirely different nature. He pulled her flush against him, and with one quick motion her dress was puddle at her feet. The suddenness of her nudity shocked her from the fog of passion, and she went rigid in his arms.

Rhett released her, momentarily stunned as she bolted from his embrace, pulling her fallen dress against her chest to provide some measure of modesty. She stared resolutely at the floor as he took a long look at her – focused gentlemanly on her face – and finally chuckled quietly. "My dear," he said. "You are the very picture of a Victorian moralist."

She frowned, but did not raise her eyes. "It isn't decent," she mumbled finally, clutching her dress tighter and backing toward the bed.

"Scarlett," he said, taking her hands firmly in his and forcing her to let the gown drop. "It is not indecent to enjoy the touch of your husband. I would think it would be indecent not to." Again there was laughter in his voice, though the look in his eyes as he took in her form was intense.

He stood then and removed what remained of his clothing. She closed her eyes and sat atop the coverlet, knowing what the remaining process would entail; now came the pain and discomfort she remembered. He climbed into the bed beside her, and she held her breath. After a long moment his voice whispered in her ear, firm and demanding as his breath raised goose bumps on her skin.

"Open your eyes, Scarlett," he said. "Look at me."

She thought of fighting him, resisting the further degradation of having to see him – but she complied nonetheless. He was leaning over her, and when she met his eyes she found the sharp lines of his face as unreadable as ever. He kissed her then, a long succession of kisses that were, in turns, as sweet and soft as butterfly wings and as hot and melting as the Georgia sun. She lost herself in them; slowly her tense muscles relaxed, and she became pliant beneath his caressing hands.

She gasped sharply as his hand stroked her breast, and perspiration began to break across her skin. She had not been prepared for this! Oh, she had suspected that bad women may enjoy such things, but for him to behave so with his wife? She wanted desperately to object, to deny him this debauchery as a proper lady ought – but how she craved for it to continue! She had never felt anything so undignified, and it appealed to the something earthy in her blood. She arched her back as his tongue traced across the path his fingers had so recently forged, and a sudden, gentle suckling forced a moan from her somewhere deep in her throat.

Rhett chuckled against her, and she found that she had reached for him; her fingers were threaded into the velvety strands of his hair and her nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His attentions switched to her other breast, and she whimpered softly at the brief cessation. He looked up from his new task and grinned at her before blowing softly over the dampened skin.

Scarlett tried to look away as he shifted closer, but he commanded again that she meet his gaze. "Rhett –" she started to speak, but he hushed her as his clever fingers moved from her waist to the tender flesh below. She cried out, arching against him at the new, dizzying sensations he was sending through her body. The shame that had roiled in her belly was slowly dissipating; the dim fear of God and damnation were drowned out by Rhett's heartbeat pounding close to her own and the white hot pleasure of his lips as they burned a trail across her skin.

She had thought, vaguely, that she could simply accept him, as a wife should – but he was not satisfied with acceptance. He drew her out with soft caresses and tender kisses, and then, as she grew comfortable with the sensations, demanded more. He was no longer simply touching her; he was controlling her, his movements in and around her were confident and sure, and he seemed to know without words how to send sparks across her flesh. She choked back a cry, and what emerged was instead a low moan of pleasure.

He responded with undisguised lust, and in a moment he was positioned above her. There was no fumbling and no awkwardness as he united them; she bit her lip, hard, but did not flinch as he sheathed himself in her. He remained still as she adjusted to the discomfort, and the kindness of it struck her sharply. His dark eyes held her mesmerized as slowly he began to move within her – gently at first, but reaching a rhythm quickly. Skin met skin over and again, and a feeling rose in her more intoxicating than any whiskey or wine.

Her breath came short, and the dizzying sweetness swirled to heights of pleasure she could not have imagined before him. A swirling heat seemed to tighten in her belly, and she called his name in a voice that she hardly knew as her own – a low, trembling voice, rough with desire. She broke under his ministrations, and she took him with her. He did not collapse upon her the way Charles had, knocking the breath from her body with his clumsiness; Rhett rolled away from her gently and then pulled her close again, tucking her small body against him and burying his face in her hair. She wondered, with slow, drowsy thoughts, when he had unpinned it.

She fell asleep with the warmth of Rhett's chest against her back, and the sound of his heartbeat steady and soothing in her ear.

* * *

The dim light of first dawn awoke her to a brief feeling of panic - at dawn there were chores to be done, and she had already slept too long if she could see it peeking through her window. It took several long moments to realize that she was not at Tara at all; she was in Atlanta, in the suite of rooms belonging to Rhett Butler. She was married now, the property of man for whom she had frequently felt nothing but hatred. She flushed at the memory of the previous night, and wondered at the gulf of difference between this experience and her vague memories of Charles.

She knew that she had trapped herself. She was now forever barred from even the comforting dreams of Ashley's arms - she could never let Rhett think for a moment that she still held her feelings for Ashley, Lord only knew what he would do if he felt himself deceived. There would never again be a hope for a future without the shadow of Melanie Hamilton hanging over their head, but at least now she could ensure his safety. With Rhett's money she would be able to save Tara and keep them all fed and clothed and protected from the harshness of the new world they had found themselves in. She hated to think that he would know how low she had fallen for them, but she had no choice now. There was no going back.

The idea that she would no longer have to struggle presented itself in an oddly detached way. To be free from the constant strain of fear, to sleep with a full belly beneath a warm blanket, it seemed to be too much. To get through a night without waking in a cold sweat with dreams of death and starvation at one's heels? She could no longer imagine being such a carefree person. She stared at the richly papered wall and tried to force her mind back to peace, to much-needed rest, but it evaded her, and slowly her mind began to focus on the body behind her, the arm at her waist, and the dark hand that even in sleep was gently cupping her breast. Scarlett felt herself flush from head to toe and gently adjusted her position to escape his grasp; the arms around her became like iron for an instant but they relaxed quickly, allowing her to move freely.

She let herself settle back into the embrace with a soft sigh, hoping at least for a few calm hours before he woke.

"Trouble sleeping, my dear?" His breath tickled her ear and she shivered slightly at the unfamiliar, sleep-induced hoarseness in his voice.

"No," she lied easily, glad of the darkness that hid her from his piercing gaze. There was a pause and then he was shifting beside her, propping himself up to see her face. He brushed the hair away from her face and made her meet his eyes.

"Scarlett," he said quietly. "I can't help you unless you're honest. Let me help you. Tell me what's wrong, honey."

The warmth of his gaze was unnerving, and she resented him for it. She had grown accustomed to being given the fear and respect that her sharp tongue afforded her, but Rhett had always treated her like a child to be coddled and teased. She would love to be coddled, given hugs and promises that her load would be lifted, but she could never trust that his response would be kind and teasing might break her.

"It's nothing, Rhett," she said. "I'm...worried about Wade." The fact that she had hardly thought of the boy from the moment she had secured nutrition for him did not make the statement inherently untrue.

"How maternal." His tone held no mockery, but she felt the implied disbelief nonetheless.

"You could never understand," she said, suddenly angry. "You've never starved."

"I spent eight months in the Confederate Army," he replied mildly. "I seem to recall a bit of hunger, my dear."

She pushed him away and climbed out of the bed, turning furiously. "You have no idea!" She began to pace in tight circles about the room. "I don't care how little they had; someone was giving it to you - stealing it from us and giving it to you. You weren't digging in the dirt with your bare hands and trying not to eat what you found because someone else needed it more." Her voice cracked but she carried on, quickly losing herself to hysteria. "It didn't matter how hungry I was, I had to give it all to them because they were old, or young, or sick! I came home and Mother was dead and Pa had gone mad and there was only me to keep everyone alive so don't _tell_ me you understand!"

"Stop! By God, Scarlett, stop!" He was beside her somehow, and shaking her. She flew at him, her small fists pounded against him with helpless fury.

"I hate you for leaving us there! You left us to die, and I hope you burn in hell for it! I'll never forgive you as long as I live!"

He pulled her tight against his chest, pinning her arms between them; she struggled briefly before she collapsed with a sob.

"I'm so tired, Rhett. I can barely move, I'm so tired."

"I know," he murmured, the fight gone from both of them. "I'm here now, honey, and you won't have to struggle anymore."

She no longer had the energy for even the small, bitter laugh that wanted to escape her. She simply allowed him to sweep her into his arms and carry her back to the bed, tucking her in gently. It was difficult to resist the picture he painted; for the moment he was being kind, and she so dearly wanted kindness in her life. She turned her face into her pillow again, a dull comfort being found in the softness of the down wrapped about her person. No, she would not have to struggle for food and comfort ever again - but the knowledge that she had entered into a new war frightened her. She understood the fight for survival, she could pit herself against the world and keep her family alive, but a battle of wits against Rhett Butler was terrifying. She shivered as he pulled her close, and she wondered what would happen if he ever realized that she had tricked him.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: I know it's been a terribly long time and I'm so sorry! I must have written a dozen pages worth of discarded nonsense over the past couple of years trying to get the second chapter before finally finding a way to get it the way I wanted. Hopefully it won't be so trying for chapter 3.

AN2: So many thank yous for everyone that has ever replied to this story - I'm always terrible about replying to feedback (I always feel so awkward accepting praise and I don't want to get involved in fights with flamers), but please know that I appreciate each and every comment and reread them to bring up my spirits on sad days. Thank you so much.

Finally: Particular praise should be issued to Stephanie G., without whom this story would be full of horrific comma usage and ridiculous tense shifting. Literally the best beta reader I've ever had.

A Winter Fever

**Chapter 2**

Their arrival in Jonesboro was heralded only by a peg-legged man, idly chewing a length of straw from a small buckboard cart. Scarlett eyed Rhett as he scanned the town, taking in the pitiful changes that the war had wrought upon it. Gone were the pristine storefronts and neatly shingled homes – nearly all had been burned to the ground during the fighting, and in their places were meager shacks made from whatever wood could be salvaged or cut down from the neighboring forests.

He did not even register Will Benteen, as she had known he would not, but her heart warmed at the sight of Will's grizzled face. He could bring peace to her in much the way that Tara did – he represented strength, and loyalty, and love of the land; concepts which could quietly soothe even her most passionate furies. A younger Scarlett would have shuddered in horror at the mere presence of a poor, ill-educated Cracker within Tara's walls, but she had learned well the value of his calloused hands.

"Will," she said, flashing him a genuine smile. He met her with a respectful nod, before reaching for her small valise.

"All yours?" he asked, nodding at the parcels that the porter had piled at the edge of the platform. If he felt any surprise at the opulence, he did not show it. At Scarlett's nod, he began to move them onto the wagon.

"Will," Scarlett said again, reaching for his arm. "This is Rhett Butler. My – my new husband." Her tongue tripped over the words, unfamiliar and alien as they felt.

"Congratulations, Miz Scarlett," Will said calmly, before extending a hand to Rhett. "Mr. Butler."

Scarlett smiled fondly; nothing ever fazed Will. It was comforting. "Rhett, this is Will Benteen. He lives with us at Tara; he's part of the family now."

She watched closely as Rhett shook the man's hand, ready to fight like a cat at the first sign of contempt, but Rhett was on his best behavior, and she slowly relaxed as he began to help pack the buggy.

"How is Wade?" she asked quietly.

"Well," Will paused, chewing thoughtfully. "Mammy got a bowl of broth in him last night, and he et it well enough. Fever ain't broke, but it don't seem to be troublin' him so much. Slept a mite easier with a full belly."

"That's a mercy at least," Scarlett said, frowning thoughtfully. "We've brought more food, and good fabric, too, so everyone will be able to say that tomorrow."

"I reckon so."

Between the hands of the two men, the wagon was soon loaded down with supplies, and she climbed into the back, settling herself as comfortably as she could against a bolt of heavy flannel. Rhett said very little else during the trip through the County, though somewhere along the winding road, his arms wrapped around her and his chin rested gently against her thick knot of hair. He had hardly let her out of his arms since she woke that morning, but he was warm and solid, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, enjoying the quiet beat of his heart as they drove steadily on toward her home.

"My dear," his voice rumbled softly in her ear, and she blinked. She looked up at him, and he was smiling at her in a way that she liked – the way that meant he was going to be pleasant and kind to her. "We're nearly there."

She smiled in a confused sort of way – why, Tara was miles away! – before she looked about her. She must have fallen asleep against his shoulder, for she could see the small copse that hid the road to Mimosa just behind them. She frowned and shifted away from him, peering into the fields. "But, oh! We're practically home. Rhett, why did you let me sleep?"

"You didn't exactly ask my permission," he said, but he was still smiling at her and there was no meanness in his voice.

He said something else, but his words were lost to her; her heart was pounding so that she could hear nothing else. In a moment they had cleared the forest, and the whitewashed walls appeared in view. She wondered if the day would ever come that she crested this hill without a cold knot of fear in the pit of her stomach…if she would ever come to have faith that her home was still standing on the other side.

She turned to Rhett, waiting for his reaction. She knew that the plantation at its height had never compared to the mansions of Charleston and now the kindest words to describe it were 'run down', but it was the home she loved, the home she had bled, cried and starved for.

His voice was warm when he spoke, and his eyes looked at her with pride. "The Yankees picked a poor foe in you," he said. "I think we may have won after all, if we'd brought a woman like you to the front lines." He lifted one of her work-roughened hands and pressed a soft kiss to the calloused flesh. "You've done well, my dear."

Scarlett felt a flush of pleasure. "Fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett, how you do run on," she tugged her hand free and instead looped it through his arm. Even through layers of new, store-bought clothes, she felt the warmth of him sinking into her skin, soothing her aching muscles and her fears. She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, closing her eyes and enjoyed the gentle rocking of the buggy until they reached the house.

He helped her from the seat, keeping his hand at her waist as they approached the steps. She glanced back at the carriage and was relieved to see Will making fast work removing the stacks of boxes and bolts of fabric from the buggy. She assumed that rest of the family was out in the fields, and she could hardly afford to have them wasting the day unloading packages when there were chores to be done.

The fact that struggling in the fields was no longer necessary was not one that she was prepared to face, no matter how close she had come to crying when she saw the sheer quantity of food that had been purchased for them.

The sound of the carriage must have roused the few allowed to remain indoors, because in a moment a wide black face had appeared, disapproval already apparent on her lips. "Who dat?" Mammy's eyes narrowed in suspicion of the man holding her mistress with such familiarity.

"Mammy, darling, don't be rude!" Scarlett chided sweetly.

The old woman's lower lip began to protrude, objections ready to spill forth. If Scarlett was being sweet no one was going to like the outcome.

"This is Captain Butler," Scarlett continued. "We were married yesterday in Atlanta."

Mammy's eyes went wide with shock, and she looked between them in dumb silence for a long moment. The required niceties overcame her outrage at the breech in decorum. "Well, bless you, then, Miss Scarlett."

Scarlett kept the smile pinned to her face, knowing full well that the former slave would have a mouthful of venom when they were alone, but Rhett, husband or not, was an outsider and appearances must be maintained.

Rhett grinned at her, his white teeth shining in the morning sun. "It's a pleasure to meet the woman who has been so very responsible for making my Scarlett the woman she is today."

Both women paused, feeling an insult hidden in the words but unable to quite pin it down.

"Captain Butler?" the soft voice of Melanie Wilkes instantly turned their eyes toward the door. She came around, eyes brightening. "Oh, it is you! I'm so very glad you made it back to Atlanta, I worried I may never get the chance to thank you for saving me and my little Beau."

"No gentleman could have resisted the fervent pleas of your dear, dedicated sister," he drawled, bowing lightly. "And knowing your plight, neither could I."

Melanie smiled. "You speak ill of yourself, Captain Butler, but you saved our lives that night. We wouldn't be here if not for you."

"And I've done nothing, I suppose?" Scarlett asked peevishly.

"Oh, darling, you know that isn't true! But we couldn't have even left Aunt Pitty's if it weren't for Captain Butler."

Scarlett said nothing, sure that if she opened her mouth then she would say something she would regret.

"But sir, glad as we all are to have you," to her credit, Melanie did not look at Scarlett as she spoke, though they both remembered the many times he had been mentioned as 'that skunk, Rhett Butler.' "What has brought you to Tara?"

"Well, Melly, I know that it's sudden," Scarlett began, delicately placing her left hand over her sister-in-law's. "But after I ran into Rhett in Atlanta and realized how I'd missed him, well," she glanced significantly at the small gold band sparkling on her finger. "We were married yesterday."

There was a pause, and then Melanie threw her small arms around Scarlett's neck. "Oh, my darling, I'm so happy I could cry!" She held the embrace for several long seconds before turning to Rhett, shyness once again turning her expression hesitant, though her dark eyes were lit with joy. "Welcome to our family, Captain Butler. I am so very glad."

Mammy snorted to herself, mumbling loudly about 'young missus what shame dey family' and 'men dat ain't gentlemen' as she retired into the house.

Rhett smiled and bowed again to Melanie. "I'm certain that the pleasure in joining your dear family is all mine, Mrs. Wilkes."

Scarlett reached for his arm and tugged him toward the door. "I hate to interrupt, Melly, but I simply must change, and I haven't seen Wade yet – I know Will said he'd been doing a bit better but I want a look."

"Oh, darling, of course," Melanie replied, walking with them into the house. She bit her lip and hesitated before continuing. "He's still very feverish, he kept down a bit of soup last night but this morning he seemed worse again." She flushed a bit, embarrassed and disapproving. "Your father gave him a bit of the corn whiskey he keeps about. It seemed to, ah, help a bit."

Scarlett stopped, alarm clear in her eyes. "Corn whiskey! Why, that rotgut could kill a horse, why ever did you let him?"

"Mammy agreed it would at least help him rest," Melanie explained anxiously. "He was exhausting himself crying."

"Well, I brought medicine from town," Scarlett said, a deep frown creasing her lovely brow. "And plenty of food – there's a tureen of chicken soup I had them make at the National, could you see to it that it gets heated for me? And there are some good fresh vegetables from the market in Atlanta he could do with, too. Have Mammy help you; and I'll be down soon to see to the unpacking."

Melanie agreed readily and hurried after Will and the packages that Mammy was certainly already organizing. Scarlett led Rhett up the stairs to the bedrooms, but she could glean no sense of his thoughts on the home she loved so dearly.

He said nothing, but she saw his eyes rake across her bedroom – she was all too aware of the lumps made by a rough straw tick, and just remembering the thinness of the worn quilt made her shiver in the cool room. She hated that he could see the stained, threadbare dresses hanging in her armoire, and raised her chin proudly. As sad as it was to see, it was only through the sweat of her brow that it had survived and by god, she was proud of it.

The click of the door closing behind her brought them both back to the present. He pulled her to him, holding her thin frame against his broad chest and encircling her with his arms. There was no hurry in him now, no blinding rush of passion that moved time too quickly. He kissed her slowly, his fingers sliding across her body as if needing to be certain that every inch of her was still with him. He moved behind her, slowly removing the pins that held the remainders of her once-smooth chignon in place. He swept her freed locks across her neck, and she shivered as his fingers brushed her skin. His lips followed, and she arched unconsciously into his embrace as he traced a path across her shoulder. Such behavior in daylight was terrible and shocking - she wasn't entirely sure it was any less shocking in the dark - but somehow he seemed to know exactly what would draw her out, ruining every attempt she made at being appropriately aloof.

She shook her head to clear it, objections on her lips. "Rhett, stop, please - not now. I want to check on Wade and the family, and it's not even dinnertime yet. It isn't decent."

He held her against him for another moment, and despite herself she enjoyed the feel of his warmth against her chilled skin. He pressed one last kiss to the soft skin of her neck and released her. She shivered briefly in cold of the room, but her spine straightened quickly and she gathered the pins he had so carelessly discarded, quickly twisting her hair back up into a somewhat rough bun. She pulled one of her old dresses from the cabinet, wrinkling her nose at it but knowing it was far more appropriate for the sickroom than her new traveling gown was. Rhett stopped her hand at the door before she could open it to summon Mammy. "I'll help you," he said.

She stared at him, the very suggestion leaving her in a state of shock. "Oh," she managed finally. She nodded, and stood beside the bed as he ran his fingers over the multitude of buttons securing the pretty velvet basque. She'd been forced to wear an additional ruffled chemise underneath it to fill the bodice, and she was embarrassed to realize that he would see it. Although she had always prided herself on her tiny waist, it had always been complimented by pleasant curves. Now the smallest pre-made gown carried by the dry goods store was too large, and she longed for the luxury of fat.

To his credit, he did not linger overlong at his task, and soon she was dressed in the cleanest of her worn calico dresses. He followed her through the house to the room that held her son, and watched her as she checked over the child. She forced a spoonful of the doctor's vile liquid down his throat; watching calmly as he sputtered but never taking her eyes from him until she was certain it had all been taken in, and followed by several large mouthfuls of the warm chicken soup Mammy had sent up with Prissy.

She instructed the flighty girl to be sure he ate the rest, but slowly, so as not to make him sick. "No sense in having it come right back up again," she said. She glanced at Rhett, catching his eyes and blushing. It was rare for anyone to see her in so domestic a role - even the family here had rarely witnessed tenderness in Scarlett's demeanor. He didn't tease her, and he moved to Wade's side and gently brushed the boy's hair from his eyes, his expression soft.

"Would you like to see the rest of Tara?" she asked, hesitating slightly.

He nodded. "Shouldn't I get to know my new home?" he replied. She smiled and nodded, taking his arm as they descended the back stairs.

Despite herself, she was excited to show him the grounds she had slaved over for so many months. She was proud of herself, and she'd had no one to see it in such a very long time. He made the appropriate noises as she pointed to the fields, explaining what they had done already and what she intended to do the coming months. That her plans would change now was unspoken, but they both knew that whatever came of their lives, she would never be putting her hands to soil again.

It was nice to have someone who listened to her ideas and gave some of his own. She could always count on Will to do what she needed, but he was no visionary, and Ashley…well, she hardly blamed him for being distant. He had no experience in it, after all, and had been bred to be a gentleman, not a farmer. She was surprised to find how quickly the time passed with Rhett at her side.

They saw none of the family in the fields, and Scarlett had nearly begun to worry that something was wrong when she heard the sound of an ax striking wood from within the nearby woods. A troubled grunt followed, and her heart sped up. Ashley.

She glanced at Rhett, but he bore no expression. She could not change their course now, not without causing suspicion, but was she ready to confront him? Was her heart locked so tightly that she could hide her love from eyes that knew all too well what to look for? She had no time to decide, and moments later he came into view.

The sight of him splitting rails shot pain through her heart. Her darling prince, who ought to have been lounging in the sun, reading incomprehensible poetry and drinking the sweetest wines, was reduced to this. She smothered it as quickly as she could, forcing her expression to one of bland disinterest, and rested her head against Rhett's shoulder.

He had heard them approach, and his eyes were dull and sad when they met hers. They held briefly, and then slid to the arm about her waist - an arm that suddenly felt like steel.

"Scarlett." Ashley nodded first to her then to Rhett. "Captain Butler. Melanie found me and informed me of the happy news; I hear there are felicitations to be offered."

"Yes, thank you." Rhett's voice was smooth as silk. "We are very happy."

"I was just showing Rhett about Tara," Scarlett said, attempting to fill the uncomfortable silence. "He's been to the county before, of course, but never here. Why the very first time we met was at Twelve Oaks." Damn, she thought, why would she bring up that, of all things?

She felt, rather than saw, the nasty smile that crept across Rhett's face. "Yes, my dear," he said. "I recall quite vividly. You struck me from the very first moment with your…passion for living."

Ashley blanched, and in that moment she saw that he knew Rhett had heard them so many years ago, and what exactly that meant. He murmured an apology and brushed past them toward the house.

She stared at Rhett for a long, silent moment before shaking her head. "Was that really necessary?" she asked, pursing her lips. "Now he'll never be comfortable around you."

"Good," he replied, pulling her tight against his side. He took her chin in his fingers and forced her eyes up to meet his. "I couldn't have the honorable Mr. Wilkes thinking he still held a claim on your heart, could I, my dear?"

Scarlett raised herself up to her toes and pressed her lips lightly against Rhett's. "That was then," she murmured. "This is now." She smiled coyly and pulled back, her fingers playing lightly over the silk of his cravat. "Though I rather like the look of jealousy on you, Captain Butler; it's very handsome."

"You are a heartless creature," he said, a small smile teasing at his lips. "But that's part of your charm."

"Now, don't be mean or I won't forgive you." She pouted at him. "Let's go back to the house, Rhett; it must be dinner time by now."

He tucked her hand into his elbow and led her out of the trees, but they made little progress toward the house. Waiting just beyond the thicket was Gerald, staring listlessly over the fields. He heard them coming and turned to them, but still seemed very far away.

"Pa," Scarlett called sweetly, glad for his distraction. "I'm home, darling. Oh, you remember Captain Butler, don't you?"

Gerald's eyes were wide and slightly glassy; he looked briefly to the swarthy man at her side, but his faint attention soon focused on Scarlett. "You have been missed, daughter," he said slowly.

"I was only gone for two days," Scarlett replied. "Didn't I tell you I'd be back as soon as I could?"

He nodded, and shook himself. "Yes," he said. He remembered his manners and a slightly confused smile appeared on his face as he held out his hand to Rhett, his tone of voice reminding Scarlett painfully of the days when they had hosted parties and welcomed guests from afar. "Captain Butler, 'tis good of you to pay us a visit."

"It's my pleasure," Rhett said, his voice pleasantly respectful. He stepped forward and took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly.

"Rhett isn't a visitor," Scarlett interrupted, smiling brightly. "He's come to stay." She stuck out her hand and showed the ring upon her left hand. "We were married yesterday, in Atlanta."

There was a pause as Gerald processed this information, and with an almost audible snap, he understood. The fog cleared from his eyes, and his naturally ruddy complexion darkened like Georgia clay after a rain. "Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O'Hara, that you've married a man who was too much of a coward and a brigand to ask your father's permission? You've married with not a blessed member of your family to witness it? What sort of scoundrel would make you feel such shame as to hide it from all your kith and kin?"

"Now, Pa," Scarlett said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "It's hardly like we were strangers before - after all, isn't his mother my Aunt Eulalie's best friend? Why, you met Rhett when he first started courting me and you liked him very well then, didn't you?"

There was no confusion in his expression as he scowled at her. "Liked him? The traitor who wouldn't even take up arms against the Yankees? A man who choked us with our own purse strings!" His voice echoed furiously down the lane. "A man who would marry a girl with nary a word to her father is no man to respect, Katie Scarlett!"

"Now, Pa, don't you think it's even a bit romantic? And he's been courting me in Atlanta for years, you know."

"And it's courting you're calling it now?" Gerald bellowed, eyes snapping blue fire. "A new widow being paraded about, reputation in shambles from his attentions?"

Rhett bowed his head, whether in deference to her father's ire or to hide the smile twitching at his lips, Scarlett could not quite decide which. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. O'Hara. I'm afraid that my deep regard for your daughter overwhelmed both propriety and my own common sense - after this cruel year apart, our reunion was too dear to delay marriage any further."

Scarlett stared at him in suspicion, unable to quite shake the feeling that they were being made fun of. He was too solemn, too respectful; it wasn't like him at all, and that usually meant he was laughing at her.

Her father frowned, clearly disturbed - though Scarlett doubted he had picked up on Rhett's amusement. "And that her father may not approve was no hindrance to you, I take it?"

"Not at all, sir," Rhett replied, his countenance carefully smooth. "As much as I respect you, I'm afraid I would not have taken no for an answer."

Scarlett smiled despite herself, pleased by his response. Gerald caught her expression and softened. "Well, puss," he said, chucking her under the chin. "I've misgivings, but your own life, so 'tis. If you're made happy, that's all a father could ask."

She blushed and stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, Pa, you darling, thank you. I couldn't stand to have you angry with me."

He took the embrace with pleasure then shuffled about awkwardly when she took Rhett's arm again. "Let us back to the house, then, daughter. I'll need to break this to Mrs. O'Hara gently, you know. She'll not approve so easy as I have."

Scarlett's face fell, and she nodded. "Of course, Pa. You speak to Mother for me, I'm sure you can convince her."

Rhett glanced at her, but she just shook her head; he nodded. It really did not take any explanation, after all. They followed him the rest of the way back in silence.

* * *

It took very little time for Wade to recover. Whether through the gifts of Dr. Meade or the simple benefit of good food it was hard to say, but within just over a week he was well on his way to recovery, and the family began to breathe easy again, slowly settling into a new pattern that did not involve a desperate struggle to survive. Scarlett kept herself busy organizing their new finances, maintaining a careful tally of every dollar that was spent on her home and promising in her mind to pay every dime of it back once the plantation was at its former glory.

Rhett had taken it upon himself to visit Jonesboro and hire workers. Field hands would not be needed until the spring planting season, but there was little left of the former slave quarters in which to house them, and he didn't trust them to come from town every day. He purchased the needed lumber and promised a fair wage to any man who was willing to work hard. It took time to find the sort of men they wanted, and it was Will Benteen in the end that arranged it. He knew the right people in town, and they respected him. People didn't trust the silver-tongued Butler, but everyone knew that Will was a man of his word.

Scarlett was still unable to understand the idea that her struggle was ending - that her blistered fingers would heal and once again be the soft and delicate flesh of a lady. It was beyond imagining in the world she had grown so used to. She often found herself waking in the dead of night and sneaking to the kitchen, just to be sure that the food was still there, that she was not dreaming.

One such night, Scarlett stopped short of the kitchen. There was a candle burning in her mother's office, and Ashley sat in a worn old high-backed chair, engrossed in one of Ellen's books. It was late - she hadn't expected to see anyone - and she was suddenly keenly aware of her dishabille - a red velvet dressing gown over her thin nightdress and loose hair tumbling down her back. Only a few minutes earlier she had been in her husband's arms; the memory of Rhett's fingers gliding across her skin came to mind and she flushed, hoping he would not realize. "Forgive me," she said awkwardly. "I thought everyone was asleep." She was torn - embarrassed at her appearance, but treasuring the chance at a precious moment alone with him.

"No, I apologize," Ashley replied, setting aside the leather-bound volume. He took in her rumpled appearance and his expression tightened. "Scarlett," he said, his voice laced with some unknown suffering. "I planned to tell you tomorrow, but…Melly and I are leaving. We're moving to Atlanta to stay with her Aunt Pittypat. You don't need us here now, and I need to make my own way in the world."

"What!" Scarlett's eyes were wild and she approached him, heedless now of proprieties. "Not - not need you? Why, Ashley, you're - you know that you're the only thing in the world I do need. I can't - I can't be without you."

"Oh, Scarlett, you don't want me. I'm a coward and a cad - I knew what you were willing to do to take care of Wade but I let you go." He stopped her approach, holding her gently at arm's length. "Dear, I should have stopped you, found the money somehow - committed highway robbery if I could, but I didn't. I let you join yourself for life to a man like Butler. I'm ashamed of myself. No, you don't need me."

"No, I couldn't have let you - it was my task, how could I ask you to save me from it? All I want is your support, my darling, that's why you can't leave me. Don't you see I have the courage to face anything, so long as you love me?"

"My dear, how can I do that?" He neared her, and the warmth of his body thrilled her, even as his words sent chills through her heart. "You want me to stay and witness the hell of your marriage to that scoundrel? To know that you are forced to accept him as your husband because I failed you? No, darling, you ask too much of me."

"Oh, but you haven't failed me!" Her eyes were bright and shining in the candlelight. He suffered knowing that Rhett could have her - he grieved for the loss of her. Even if he never spoke the words, his pain alone told her what she had always believed. He loved her. She wanted now only to comfort him and see him happy again. "You mustn't torture yourself like this; why, Rhett isn't as terrible as you think he is, even if he isn't a gentleman. Oh! Darling, please don't look at me so."

"Scarlett, I've hidden from the new world for too long, and now it has come to find me. I've let you do the work of a man and taken shelter under your roof because I feared what was beyond it, but I cannot do that any longer. You are so much braver than I am, but I can't let you face the world in my stead for another day." He held up a hand against her protest, and he swallowed hard as tears began to fill her eyes. "I have made a decision. Allow me the dignity of this, at least." He gave her one last, sad look, and then he was gone.

She bit her trembling lip and swallowed against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? Surely she could think of a way to make him stay - she would think of something, she had to. She would think about that tomorrow.

"No so terrible, my pet?" Rhett's silky voice was too calm, and she felt her heart jump as he entered the room, moving to lean casually against the heavy wood desk. "What kind words for the man you love. How fickle is woman!"

"Rhett." Scarlett hated the tremor in her voice. "I - I didn't -" she took a deep breath. "How dare you listen in on a private conversation?"

His eyes glittered in the dim candlelight, and his low voice was hard as steel. "What a brazen whore you are. Defiant to the last, even when caught and cornered, even shaking in fear, you're still full of fire."

"You haven't cornered me," she shot back. "And you'll never frighten me, Rhett Butler."

"Oh?" Quick as lightning, his hand was wrapped tightly about her arm, and he gestured grandly to the room and house beyond them. "Why, dearest wife of mine, perhaps you forget that as your husband, I own your property. All of your property. I am fully capable of having your father locked away in a madhouse, and I could sell this great white monstrosity to the lowest Yankee bidder if I chose to. You could be left without as much as the ground beneath your pretty little feet if the mood strikes. If I don't frighten you, then you're a fool."

"You wouldn't." She felt his fingers clench tighter and flinched. There was no hint of affection in his black gaze. "You would never. I'm your wife."

"My wife. Yes, you are that. Ill-behaved and poorly suited to the job though you may be." He held her away from him, glancing over her appraisingly. "If you cannot be trusted with your own fidelity, then I am apparently tasked with it myself. Tomorrow you will tell your beloved that you accept his decision to leave, and that he is, in fact, never again welcome beneath this roof, or any other that shelters your black heart. You will never be alone in his presence again. Your cheating little soul will never have another secret moment with the saintly Mr. Wilkes."

"Rhett." Scarlett was breathless with the horror of the future he presented. "You can't expect me to do that. Why, Melly's my sister, you can't ask me to -"

"No one is asking. If you do not obey me, I will reveal you both, destroy your lives and reputation. No one cares for adulteresses, Scarlett. I could wring your neck in front of the courthouse and the law would look the other way."

She raised her chin and jerked at the arm he held captive. "You may hold the power but don't think that you can break me, Rhett Butler. You can put as much distance between us as you like, lock me in a tower where I never see him again, but it won't matter because my heart is his. I will never love you."

His bland mask broke, and for the briefest moment she saw clearly the heat of fury glowing in his eyes. Her thin shoulders vanished under the span of his hands and he shook her fiercely. "Listen to me, Scarlett O'Hara. I don't give a damn if you love me, but you will not make a fool of me. And by god if that's why you've married me, know that I will kill you both before I see Ashley Wilkes' bastard raised under the Butler name."

"You would expect something like that," she spat, attempting to wrench herself free. "You can't even imagine that others aren't as dirty as you are, and that a love might be pure. You don't understand anything that isn't low and disgusting."

His face twisted into an ugly smile, and a cruel, bitter laugh escaped him. "What a pathetic idiot you are."

She jerked one hand free as if to slap him, but it was caught again and his lips crashed down over hers. There was none of the gentleness of their earlier passions, no tenderness and slow coaxing caresses. It was a demanding, controlling heat that left her light-headed and thrilled her to her toes. His mouth trailed across her throat, suckling and biting at the skin and any thought she may have had of protesting vanished.

Something had ignited within her, a primal need to show him that she would not be cowed by him. She responded to him with a fervor that equaled his own, and when their lips met again she was the aggressor, kissing him with all of the anger and resentment that had simmered through years of his mockery and cruelty. She wanted him to feel the heat of her hatred, know what she had felt after being abandoned at the side of the road like trash, and everything that the world had unleashed upon her since.

If her ferocity surprised him, it did not slow him. He crushed her slim form against him, bending her backwards over her mother's desk and eventually to the floor behind it. She realized then that he had, at some point, relieved her of her dressing gown - it laid in a velvet puddle on the floor beneath them - and that the hem of her thin nightdress had been inched steadily upward. She pushed at his shoulders, a whispered request that they remove to her bedroom went unheeded as his fingers slid higher, testing and teasing at her delicate folds. Her hips bucked to meet the stroke of his hand and she felt herself spreading for him as the nimble fingers were replaced by more solid flesh.

He sank into her, filling her so fully that she forgot that she was supposed to hate him - that just minutes earlier she had been ready to scratch his eyes out. She arched into him, willing him to take her further into the swirling madness that fogged her mind.

He froze above her. She frowned, startled by the cessation until she heard what he had - footsteps on the stairs.

"Scarlett?" a voice called softly. Horror filled her; and she looked up at Rhett - pleading wordlessly for a solution.

She heard Melanie reach the door and held her breath, hoping desperately that the shadow of the large desk was enough to keep them hidden in the dim candlelight.

There was a rustle of fabric, and the candle rose from the side table.

"There, my dear, I told you it was nothing." Ashley's voice came quietly, his tone warm and gentle. "She just left it burning when she went to bed."

Scarlett closed her eyes, humiliation and dread thick in her belly. Rhett took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. His expression was dimmed by the faint light but she realized his intention. Slowly he began to move inside of her, and she had to swallow back a moan.

"It's unlike her," Melanie murmured, and the candle was lifted slightly. Rhett paused, the shadows shifted but did not reveal them, and he thrust into her again. It was slow, languorous torture, and she could do nothing about it.

"She's had a lot to think of today," Ashley said.

Behind the desk, Rhett slid his fingers across her breast, never breaking eye contact.

"As you have," Melanie replied.

"As have we all," Ashley corrected. Rhett's fingers tweaked a firm nipple, and Scarlett bit her tongue fiercely.

There was a puff of breath and the light was extinguished, then a soft clatter as the remainder of the candle was left on the table. The door closed softly behind them, leaving the room in complete darkness.

It was a matter of moments from then. His lips and hands roamed freely over her body and the force of his hips was going to leave bruises - but she didn't care. She went willingly with him to the edge, gasping his name as she reached the pinnacle and pleasure addled her mind. He let out a short, hard breath and rested his forehead against hers as his climax abated.

She felt him shudder over her, but he did not move from his position inside her. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her, overwhelmed and frightened by the reaction he had plied from her, and she wanted to escape, to hide from the potency of her feelings. She squirmed, and in response an arm pressed tightly over her belly. "This changes nothing," he whispered against her lips.

She felt herself go cold. He lifted himself from her body, and she heard rustling as he righted himself and retied his dressing gown. She shivered and took hold of the desk, using it to steady herself first as she stood and then as she felt about the floor for her robe, suddenly desperate for another layer over her skin. It was thrust into her hands and she was glad he could not see her face - she knew he would see wetness in her eyes and she could not stand the idea that he might spot weakness. She wrapped the warm fabric around her shoulders and, in a steadier voice than she would have thought herself capable of, bade him good night.


End file.
